Crash Into Me
by holadios
Summary: After an accident sends his family to the hospital, Castle seeks comfort and solace in the one woman who is always there for him. A ficlet of indeterminate length.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

**A/N:** I started writing this oneshot after Cops and Robbers, which finally gave me some inspiration into Beckett's mind. I hope you enjoy this attempt at writing from her POV. It's not set at any specific time, just vaguely in the future-ish.

Thanks to my twin soul for beta'ing.

* * *

><p>"Castle!"<p>

He looks up when he hears her call his name and she races toward him. His clothes are rumpled and she's not sure, but she thinks he's been crying. He stands to meet her, his shoulders sagging, obvious bags under his eyes. She searches his grave expression.

"How are they?"

"I – I don't know," he answers shakily as she guides him into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. She remembers these chairs well, and none of the memories are good ones. In fact they're all ones she wishes she could forget. "They're in surgery. The doctors haven't told me anything new."

She isn't sure what to do, whether to touch him or leave him alone. She knows he wants her here because he called her here, but a phone call isn't an open invitation. She settles for taking his hand and squeezing it gently. He doesn't look at her, but she is heartened when he doesn't pull away.

"I shouldn't have let her drive," he mutters. "Why did I let her drive?"

"Don't blame yourself," she assures him. "Alexis is just-"

"Alexis wasn't driving."

"Oh." She isn't sure what else to say.

"It was just a stupid opera. Who drives to those anyway? Why didn't I insist they call a cab? Why didn't I-?

"Hey." She squeezes his hand again. "Look at me." He raises his eyes to meet hers. "This was not your fault."

She's not sure of the details, but she's sure it had nothing to do with him. What she knows is what he told her frantically over the phone: something to do with Martha and Alexis and a car crash. She remembers soaking in the bathtub, enjoying a quiet evening away from work, when her cell phone rang. And somehow, she knew it was him because she can always tell when it's him, a sixth sense she has developed over the years. But she has never before heard him so scared.

"Have you spoken to the police?" she asks quietly. She doesn't want to ask outright if he knows what happened.

He nods. "Yes." He draws a shaky breath. "They said – uh, they said that they were both wearing their seatbelts and that they think that my mother had a sort of stroke. And then she - I don't know – they think she lost consciousness and lost control of the car or something."

"Castle…" His name falls from her lips, hanging in the air between them. This is worse than she imagined. She had been thinking a drunk driver, perhaps T-boning the car at a stoplight, but now she realizes her hope had been…misplaced. And she knows what he's been imagining for the past hour: Martha, slumped over the wheel; Alexis, terrified and screaming as the car spins out of control and careens into a building.

At once her hand-holding seems like not enough.

She manages to find her voice. "Do they know the extent of the damage?"

He shakes his head. "It's too soon to tell," he says heavily. "I think they're focusing on the other things first."

She takes _other__ things_ to mean the immediate injuries caused by the car accident.

She doesn't know what to say. _I__'__m__ sorry,_ that useless platitude comes to mind – how many times has she used it before? But she isn't _sorry_, she's more than sorry, she's dying inside watching him grieve for his family, watching him wait for the appearance of the surgeon. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing at all. Instead she brings their joined hands to his knee and leans against his shoulder. She feels him relax against her as he rests his head against hers.

She is reminded of the last time they sat together like this, albeit under very different circumstances. Locked in a giant freezer, a promise frozen on her lips before she lost consciousness. She isn't sure she remembers what she wanted to say; it's different things at different times. Sometimes she thinks it was nothing at all — an apology, or an _I__'__m__ glad__ to__ have __met__ you_.

But sometime she thinks it was the same three words he once told her.

"Mr. Castle?"

She feels his head leave hers and she sits up. A young man is facing them, surgical cap still on his head, wearing a light blue scrub coat. It's clear the doctor is no more than an intern. She knows – and suspects Castle does too – that this means the surgery isn't over.

"I'm Dr. Blake," he introduces himself. "I'm on the team working on your daughter."

"How is she?"

"She's still in surgery," Dr. Blake informs them. "We had to remove her spleen and they're working on the pulmonary repair right now. It should be a few more hours."

She glances sideways to gauge his expression and she can tell he hasn't heard anything past _still__ in__ surgery_. She wonders if she should say something, ask this Dr. Blake about Martha, knowing that her brain is processing this information faster than his. But she's not sure it's her place, so she doesn't say anything, just nods and follows suit when Castle thanks the doctor. She waits until the surgeon leaves after promising another update soon before she begins to speak.

"This is good," she says bracingly. "She's doing okay."

He turns to her. "They didn't say anything about my mother."

"Oh…" She immediately kicks herself for not deciding not to ask about Martha. "Well, no news is good news, too. And there's probably a different team working on her, so he wouldn't have known anything anyway. We'd know if something…" She catches herself before she says it. "We'd know if there were something to worry about."

A slight nod tells her he heard what she said, even if he doesn't believe a word of it. She feels him slip his hand into hers again and she waits for him to speak, an overwhelming sense of helplessness permeating her body. She hates this, hates not being in control, not knowing what to do, what to say, maybe something is better than nothing at all, but nothing is better than the wrong thing…She hates not being in control.

She knows he feels the same way.

She replays Dr. Blake's report again. They removed her spleen and are working on a pulmonary repair…She wonders if he even heard that last part. She realizes she never asked about her specific injuries and immediately wonders if she should. How did Alexis get a hole in her lung? Did he even know there _was_ a hole, or was that a new complication?

Does it show the appropriate amount of concern to ask, or does it show too much? Not enough?

Just when she's resolved to ask, she finds a different question on her lips. "Have you eaten anything?"

He shakes his head. "Come on," she says, standing. "I'll buy you a coffee."

He remains seated. "I want to be here if…" He meets her eyes and they both know what he won't say.

"It might help if you-"

"_Kate_."

She relents. "Okay. I'll be back then." She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

"Please." She looks back at him. He's staring at the floor and she almost misses his next words. "Don't leave."

She can feel her heart breaking. Quickly she walks back to him and retakes her seat at his side. She places her hand on his knee. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looks up, and this time, there is no mistaking the glimmer of tears in his eyes. His hand finds her cheek and he leans forward. She immediately freezes, prepared to pull away. She doesn't want this to happen now. Not here, not this way.

But he doesn't. He continues to close the gap between them until his forehead is resting against hers. She can feel his breath on her lips as he whispers, "Tell me it'll be okay."

She keeps her hand on his knee, but pulls back slightly so she can look at him. His eyes search hers and she knows what he's waiting for, what he needs her to say. His use of the singular does not escape her. He could have asked if _they_ would be okay, but he knows she could never say for sure that Martha and Alexis _would_ be okay, and he's not looking for any more uncertainty. He wants her promise, her word, that whatever happens, it – _everything_ – will all be okay. Today, tomorrow, maybe even years from now, depending on how much time it takes to recover. There is some indefinite point in the future at which some semblance of normalcy will return.

She leans forward again, his forehead resting lightly against hers as she assures him, "Everything will be okay."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading! Please review if you are so inclined.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** If you recognize it, it's still not mine.

**A/N:** I'll admit, I've never done this before. Usually if I say something is a oneshot, mark it as complete, it's complete no matter what. But...so many of you had such wonderful responses and really wanted me to continue, that I have decided to continue. I want to especially thank anonymous reviewer "reader," who may not even be reading this next chapter, for his or her incredibly thoughtful and helpful comments about my characterization of Beckett. I hope this chapter shows improvement.

Thanks to Melissa for betaing, as always. Special thanks to **geekygreek** for pointing out a blatant (and rather embarrassing) canonical error.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Castle?"<p>

She looks up to find Dr. Blake standing in front of them again. The young surgeon has his scrub cap in his hands, twisting the fabric nervously.. She immediately notices this sign of distress, and wonders if he's seen it too. She tells herself the hospital wouldn't have sent a mere intern to deliver bad news and she squeezes his hand bracingly.

Dr. Blake manages a grim smile. "The surgery on your daughter is over. The hole in her lung was fixed, and there were no further complications. She's still not awake, but-"

"When can I see her?"

"Unfortunately, not right now," the surgeon responds. He looks at his watch. "She's in the surgical ICU and there are no visitors allowed at this hour."

"But-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Castle. I suggest that you go home and get some rest. Come back tomorrow morning."

She glances sideways at him, trying to gauge if he plans on fighting to see Alexis or relenting and waiting until morning. When he's been quiet for almost half a minute, she takes it as his concession.

"Thank you," she answers for him. "What time does the ICU open?"

"Eight," Dr. Blake says. "If you'll excuse me…"

"She'll be okay, though, right?"

The surgeon turns back. "Mr. Castle, your daughter is in the best hands. There is nothing more you can do."

"But – it's just that – if she wakes up, I don't want her to be alone or scared."

Dr. Blake smiles understandingly. "If she does wake up before tomorrow morning, I'll make sure she knows you're on your way." His pager sounds and he glances down and removes the beeper from his belt. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

His gaze is fixed on the surgeon as he retreats. "Castle," she says quietly when the surgeon has turned the corner. He looks at her. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"I can't go back. It would be too…"

He can't finish his sentence, but she knows what he would have said. Too lonely, too quiet, too strange. She knows he can't go back to his apartment alone tonight. She glances around them; the only other person seems to be the nurse sitting at the desk halfway down the hall. She wonders if this nurse will be the first person Alexis sees when she regains consciousness.

"Damn," he mutters, snapping her attention back to him. "I didn't ask."

"Didn't ask?"

"Dr. Blake. About my mother."

"Oh." She gestures toward the nurse. "We could ask her if she knows anything."

He shakes his head. "I don't want to bother anyone."

She takes his hand because she knows what he's not saying. "You're not bothering anyone," she assures him gently. "You've been here for hours, and there have been no updates. We'll just ask if she knows anything, and then we'll leave her alone." She squeezes his hand to silently add, _and whatever she says, it'll be okay. _

"Okay," he agrees, releasing her hand as he stands. She follows him over to the nurse's station. She sees that the nurse is older, perhaps in her late-fifties. The nurse looks up as they approach.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," he says. "I was wondering if you had any information on my mother, Martha Rodgers? She came in with my daughter Alexis hours ago."

"Martha Rodgers?" the nurse repeats. "Let me see." She turns her attention to the computer. "Yes," she says after a minute, "it looks like she had a neuro consult and then Dr. Adelson took her to surgery."

"The neurosurgeon?" he clarifies.

"Yes," she says. "It says here your mother suffered a serious stroke." She glances at her watch. "The surgery started two hours ago and is expected to take several more hours to repair all the injuries. It would probably be best if you left and came back. There won't be any new information tonight."

"I see," he says. "Well, thank you for your help."

"You're welcome." The nurse turns back to her work, but he doesn't move.

"Come on, Castle," she says quietly, when she realizes he's just standing there. "We should go." She takes his arm and leads him away.

"It would have been over by now," he says as they return to their chairs.

"What?"

"The opera," he replies. He sinks back into his seat. "It would have been over an hour ago. They would have been back home by now."

She gently lays a hand on his arm. "Don't."

He nods once, but whispers, "I can't stop."

She sighs, because she knows exactly how he feels and what's more, she knows there is very little she can actually do about this situation to make it better. It strikes her as odd that she is so good at talking to victims' families, and yet cannot manage to come up with anything meaningful to say to him. But then, she knows why that is, because talking to victims' families is scripted, emotionless; you're sorry, you're investigating, you're doing everything you can.

It's then that she realizes she's not doing everything she can.

"Come on," she says bracingly. "Let's get out of here. Not far – we don't have to go back to your apartment. But maybe we could find a diner or café that's still open, or something"

She watches his expression as he considers this idea. Finally he says, "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," she repeats. She scoops up his jacket from the chair and hands it to him. He stands and puts on the jacket wordlessly.

They exit the hospital and she realizes she has no idea where they should go. He looks at her expectantly, so she scans the lit signs, looking for a place that would serve food at this hour. Luckily she spots a 24-hour diner at the end of the block, which she points out to him.

"That looks promising," he agrees.

They walk down the empty street in silence. She waits for him to speak, not wanting to be too forward, but he either doesn't feel like speaking or isn't sure how to begin, because he doesn't say anything. There's only one occupied table when they enter the diner, where two people – hospital employees, judging from their scrubs – are sharing dessert.

"Sit wherever you like!" the waitress calls energetically from behind the counter. "I'll be right with you."

They select one of the booths in the back and slide into the seats. The waitress comes over a few moments later with some menus. She finds the huge smile and upbeat demeanor of the waitress a bit disconcerting, a jarring contrast to the somber mood of the last few hours.

"Are you hungry?" she asks as the waitress walks away.

He shakes his head.

She thinks about urging him to eat, but decides against it. She knows he doesn't want to be forced into anything. She wonders if she should order something for him, just in case the sight or smell of food makes him hungry, or if she should order something large that he might want to share. Before she can decide, the waitress returns.

"What can I get you?" she asks in her high-pitched, overly-happy tone.

"Two coffees," she replies, glancing at him. "And…" She's about to order food, but she can read in his expression that he doesn't want more than coffee. "That's it. Just two coffees."

The waitress scribbles this down, flashes a smile, and leaves.

"You should eat, if you're hungry," he says quietly.

"So should you."

He sits back. "I'm not."

She suspects he is, but concedes, "Okay." She's saved from answering further by the arrival of their coffees. She watches as he stirs in cream and sugar, wondering what, if anything, she should say. Could say. He finishes with the spoon and sets it down, but still doesn't touch the drink.

"It's good," she says, tasting it. He raises his eyebrows, so she amends, "For 24-hour diner coffee."

This manages to get a chuckle from him and he takes a sip. "Could be worse."

"That's the spirit." She takes another drink, lowering the cup slowly as she studies him. He looks exhausted, mentally and physically, but she knows he won't sleep, can't sleep until his family is in the clear.

"Kate?"

She looks up from her coffee. "Castle?"

"Thanks."

He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't need to. She reaches across the table and takes his hand.

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, no promises on how many more chapters there will be or when they will be coming. I've toyed with the idea of three chapters, five, even four...we'll see. Most likely it won't be left here, but I'm not ruling out that possibility either. While my muse ponders all of this, please review and tell me your thoughts.


End file.
